


Washington Is Burning

by quizasvivamos



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quizasvivamos/pseuds/quizasvivamos
Summary: Widowed at a young age, Kurt was left to raise his only daughter on his own. Knowing that she must marry into a wealthy family to ensure the retention of their family fortune, as her seventeenth birthday is approaching in October of 1812, Kurt makes arrangements with the Andersons. However, complications arise with the marriage arrangement when the eldest son, Blaine Anderson, and Brittany’s husband-to-be, becomes an unbearable distraction for Kurt.





	1. October, 1812

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riverance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riverance/gifts).



 

“Here, here, and...there,” Kurt said, directing the tailor, his face stern in concentration as if he were doing the work himself. Kurt placed his hand at his chin with a scrutinizing look. “Take it in just below her chest. We need to accentuate all her qualities, and she’s a tall girl, which already causes complications.”

Brittany slapped away the tailor’s hand when it came a little too close to her breast, glaring at her father through the mirror before her. She wanted to say something, but she knew it was best to bite her tongue. Her father was a good man with good intentions, but he had neurotic tendencies when it came to how she dressed and presented herself, and Brittany wished he weren’t so bossy and precise. She fidgeted as a hand brushed her leg. “It’s too tight, and it itches.”

“Quit fussing, darling. It’s important that you look desirable so that you’ll have your pick of all the young, eligible men. And you’d do well to rid your face of that scowl. It’ll cause wrinkles.”

Brittany groaned, making no attempt to force a smile.

“You should be excited. You’re turning seventeen! The manor is almost prepared for your debutante ball, and it’s going to be a grand and gay occasion. You only get to come out once, and I promise we will find you a decent and honorable man. After all, you’re a Hummel. When I present you, I’m certain the boys will be lining up for a dance with you.”

Brittany listened without argument, but she knew the truth. None of the choices would be hers to make. She would dance all night with strangers, most of whom she’d never even glimpsed in her life, and then her father would comb the party in search of a potential suitor. Whatever he said was the law in their home, but how could she possibly love a man whom she’d never met before?

She wasn’t dull, she understood her role as the eldest and only daughter, destined to inherit the estate and all the family’s fortune, but the pressure to marry at such a young age was wearing her thin. Cuyahoga County, Ohio was all she knew of the world. Brittany hadn’t the opportunity to see and experience much of anything -- never having the chance to travel, to visit France with her uncle as he’d always promised they would -- and she longed for adventure. Brittany knew what was expected of her and wanted to please her father, but she worried it would be at the expense of her happiness.

Her stony reflection stared back at her, and she relaxed, much of the tension draining from her body and face. Softer now, she took in the image of herself in the sapphire silk gown, her long golden hair done up and out of her powdered face and her silvery-blue eyes twinkling in the soft sunlight streaming through the space between the curtains. She felt beautiful.

“What will Santana be wearing, Papa?”

Kurt met her eyes in the mirror. “Santana will pick out something nice from her trunk.”

“It’s a shame she can’t get dressed up like me.” She grabbed the skirt of the dress, flaring it out to the sides and swishing it as he swayed on the stool. “We could dance all night.” Brittany’s eyes fell closed as she began to hear music in her head, imagining Santana’s bright smile and rich, olive skin.

“This night is all about you, not Santana,” Kurt snapped, pulling Brittany abruptly from her reverie.

He couldn’t afford to have her taking any attention away from his daughter. There was no doubt Santana would make a man very lucky one day. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had talks and attempted arrangements to marry her off. While most refused to take her as a bride, the few who pursued her were immediately rejected and put off by her stubborn nature. Some days, Kurt feared that she would die an old maid if she continued in her ways. After all, she was already eighteen and in her prime, and, although undoubtedly beautiful, it was no secret that her native blood made her undesirable to mix with members of aristocracy.

Taking her in was something Kurt would never regret, though his decision had come with a series of challenges. No one dared criticize him publicly, but he knew certain members of the community questioned his judgment. Santana was only a child when he adopted her, orphaned and in the care of Quakers who’d taken it upon themselves to educate the Iroquois and teach them to read and write.

Following the death of his wife, Kurt knew he would never marry again, would never father another child, and Santana’s presence in their home provided companionship for Brittany who would otherwise have had none, save for Mercedes, though she was often busy with her duties and was far past his daughter’s age to be more than a female mentor who could somewhat fill the void left by her mother.

Santana continued her education in his home alongside Brittany, and he treated her as if she were his own. Now that the girls were of age, they were inseparable to a degree that was almost detrimental to both fully blossoming into women who could fulfill their duties as wives and mothers, and with the complications that Santana’s race brought, her entrance into society was proving to be a hassle. For now, he knew he needed to push his worries to the back of his mind and focus on Brittany because she would be the one to carry on their bloodline and good name.

“Who will be attending my party?”

Kurt offered his hand to his daughter to help her off the stool, holding her at arm’s length. “Every fine man with a title and a name has received an invitation,” he told her, offering her a reassuring grin. “I have the utmost confidence that you’ll be the apple of all their eyes.” Tilting her head down, he planted a kiss to her hair, pleased to see her returning his smile, seemingly back in her usual spirits and as radiant as ever.

 

***

 

Stone-faced and austere, Kurt stood off in the corner of the room as if keeping guard. He’d planned to watch Brittany like a hawk, to gauge her interactions with the gentlemen in attendance, but with so many guests milling about and dancing, he was finding it difficult to focus on her whereabouts alone. He caught himself now and again becoming fixated on a few young men who caught his eye, each holding his attention far longer than was appropriate.

In his peripheral, Kurt saw someone approaching, turning to acknowledge his brother-in-law. “Salut, Sebastian. I hope you’re in good health?”

“Ça va, mon frère. You’ve truly outdone yourself this evening. This has been a magnificent party, and I’ve not seen a single frown in the room.”

“Merci. It’s been my pleasure mostly.” Kurt’s eyes followed a dark-haired gentleman as he spoke.

“You should be proud, Kurt. You did good raising Brittany, and I know how difficult it must have been. She looks marvelous. She looks so much like Sophie and wears her mother’s name well.”

“Mille fois merci. You’re too kind. Have you noticed her talking at length to anyone in particular?”

“No, I’m afraid I have not. She is fire, like the sun, you know. It’s hard to keep an eye on her when she’s dancing.”

Sebastian hadn’t needed to give voice to his thoughts for Kurt to know that he was remembering Sophie, the way she too loved music, her voice like a gentle breeze on a warm summer’s night, her feet swift and graceful when it moved her.

The strings played on, carried by the smooth, steady rhythm of the piano, and Kurt’s eye was drawn back to the handsome, dark-haired gentleman who’d strolled by him just moments ago and was now standing alone.

“Pardon me,” Kurt said, excusing himself from Sebastian’s company. He made his way across the room, and when he was within feet of the man, he recognized him as the local schoolmaster and eldest son of Nicholas Anderson, Esquire, a lawyer and wealthy landowner from New York.

“Good evening,” Kurt greeted, seemingly startling the young man.

Blaine’s mind had been elsewhere, the lyrics to Meet Me By Moonlight filling his head as the band played it so well, but the sight of Kurt shocked him back to the present. “Very good evening, Sir.”

“Have you had a chance to dance with my daughter yet?”

His mouth fell agape. “Your daughter!? Oh, pardon my manners, Mr. Hummel.” He quickly offered his hand. “Blaine Anderson, and it’s a great pleasure to meet you. You have my utmost gratitude for the invitation to this lovely party. I haven’t had the pleasure of a dance or an introduction.”

The man standing before Blaine shifted, his lips curling into an almost sly smile as his penetrating eyes danced with amusement. Mr. Hummel looked surprisingly young, too young to be the host and father of the young woman whose coming out was the reason for the occasion. Surely, he couldn’t be much older than Blaine.

“We haven’t been formerly acquainted, but I’m well-aware of your work at the schoolhouse,” Kurt said. “Why would a man of your caliber and lineage take to educating the masses?”

“It’s a wonderful way to make connections on my way to study law,” he explained, “and I enjoy my work with the children.”

“I’m impressed,” Kurt said. “I’m happy to hear that you’re following in your father’s footsteps. Nicholas is a highly respectable man.”

As the current song died down, Kurt desperately searched the room, lifting his hand to snap his fingers and call out, summoning Brittany to his side.

“Yes, father?” She was out of breath, her hair falling a little loose from her braided updo.

“I would like you to meet Mr. Blaine Anderson. It has come to my attention that he hasn’t had the honor of joining you in a dance.”

Brittany’s eyes were downcast, and she grew suddenly shy and uncharacteristically awkward, and Blaine looked like he was at a loss for words as he gazed upon her. If Kurt had ever seen infatuation, he was certain that their bashfulness was a good sign that he’d chosen well.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Kurt stepped back, rejoining Sebastian, who, intrigued, hadn’t budged and had watched the entire exchange with a bemused expression.

“Why him, dear brother?”

“I’m not sure. There’s...something about him.”

“He is extraordinarily handsome.”

Kurt inexplicably felt the need to defend his choice, exasperatingly countering, “Blaine Anderson is of noble lineage and is on his way to practicing law. His current title is Schoolmaster, making him extremely well-suited for raising children and ensuring they are properly educated.”

“These are uncertain times for starting a family and keeping them together, Kurt,” Sebastian responded with an unsettling bluntness.

“It seems the world will always be in turmoil, but we have the opportunity to persist. If we have the means to create our own little space, to control a piece of our fate, then why shouldn’t we?”

Hands joined, Brittany and Blaine disappeared into the crowd of dancers and were lost from Kurt’s sight.

Although not much could still Brittany’s feet when music filled the air, she felt unusually stiff in Blaine’s clutches. But Blaine was gentle and a generous dance partner, so she allowed herself to relax. As they turned, she caught a glimpse of Santana across the room, and throughout the song, she kept glancing back and over Blaine’s shoulder at her.

Santana hadn’t taken her eyes off Brittany the entire evening, and it didn’t take long for Blaine to notice that Brittany was preoccupied.

Blaine finally broke the uncomfortable silence between them. “Who is she?”

“Santana,” Brittany spoke like a tired sigh. “My Indian sister and my bosom friend.”

Blaine glanced at Santana, quickly looking back at Brittany when he was met with a look that could draw blood. “She seems very protective of you.”

“She is.”

Brittany held dearly all her memories with Santana, how she’d always been there to comfort and care for her like an older sister should. In her mind’s eye, Brittany saw the orchard, where, having been a foolish child, she’d had climbed a tree and fell. While she lay bedridden and in pain as her broken wrist healed, Santana and Mercedes, their servant, had never left her side.

The moment the song ended, Brittany and Blaine parted, releasing each other and stepping back to assume the same awkward, distracted demeanors as before. Seconds later, another young man came by and swept Brittany up into yet another dance, and Blaine was immensely relieved, feeling like he could breathe again.

When he looked to Santana, her venomous glare was no longer for him, her attention now on the current unsuspecting dance partner. Blaine couldn’t help but wonder if Santana’s ire was due to jealousy of Brittany’s fairer complexion and of her status as heir to the Hummel estate. There was no denying that Brittany was very beautiful, but something didn’t feel right. Despite the deliberate setup and permission and introduction from Mr. Hummel himself, Blaine felt like he was intruding.

Blaine knew what it all had meant, the way Mr. Hummel had approached him and pushed the two together. He had his eye specifically on Blaine as a potential suitor, and if he weighed his options, it would be advantageous to marry into a family with their status and social standing.

Blaine felt eyes on him, turning his head to meet Kurt’s from across the room. He felt himself blush under his gaze and turned away. They might not have been acquainted prior to this evening, but there were things Blaine knew for certain about Kurt Hummel. He was well-known and respected in town, throughout the county, and in many circles throughout the states. A prosperous fur trader and farmer and widower, his apparent youth was astonishing, Blaine’s heart aching a bit at the thought of losing a spouse so early on. He’d heard that his wife died during childbirth, and Kurt had been on his own to raise their daughter. Only twenty-three, Blaine couldn’t imagine how it felt to experience such a loss and to endure the pain through the years.

The clinking of glasses drew Blaine’s attention toward an area of the room where a brunette stood, exhausted from dancing most of the night and thus taking a break to have a drink. Blaine made his way over to her, weaving through the other guests, beaming when their eyes met.

“How has your evening been going?”

Rachel sighed, a dreamy expression on her face. “It’s been absolutely splendid. I’ve been spinning ‘round and ‘round with all the young men, and I’ve not a care in the world that they only seem to have eyes for Miss Hummel.” Her grin became impish, a twinkle in her eye. “I saw you dancing with Brittany.”

Blaine swallowed nervously. “I think Mr. Hummel has taken a liking to me and will request that I court his daughter.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“It’s an honor,” Blaine answered honestly.

“And how do you feel about Brittany?”

“She’s very sweet and fair and an excellent dancer.” As far as honesty went, he had nothing else to say about her and was grateful that Rachel did not prod or press him further.

Rachel took Blaine’s hand. “The night is still young. Let’s dance, my dearest brother.”

Giggling and giddy, the Anderson twins took to the floor together, forgetting about what was to come for that bit of stolen time.


	2. November, 1812

One of Brittany’s favorite things was to watch the leaves change colors in autumn, but with the passing of her seventeenth birthday, the way their branches seemed to shiver from the chill in the air as they took on golden, red, and orange hues felt strangely ominous.

Subsequent to the party, Kurt had done exactly as expected, and Blaine didn’t even bat an eye when he received Kurt’s invitation to tea, having already accepted his fate: Brittany Sophie Hummel was to be his wife. The terms for the courtship were laid out during that meeting, and Blaine graciously accepted.

Blaine's first appearance at the estate following the arrangements coincided with an unseasonably warm, sunny day for November. The fair weather permitted Brittany to accompany him on a walk around the grounds of the Hummel estate, and they spent the time learning about each other. Realizing they were still virtual strangers and Blaine had spent significantly more time with her father, they agreed to start at the beginning and ease into their engagement.  

Brittany had been quiet in contemplation, watching her feet and their gliding shadows as they walked along, her gloved hands clasped by her belly. With Blaine holding her parasol above her like a true gentlemen, she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “My father tells me that you're a teacher,” she finally said, her eyes still downcast.

Blaine was relieved that she’d taken the initiative, because he hadn’t known where to begin. The only woman he’d ever been close to was his sister, Rachel; they may have been twins, but she was undoubtedly more commanding with words than he. “I run the schoolhouse in town, yes.”

“But you're to be a lawyer? Why would you waste your time with such a profession?”

Blaine stopped in his tracks, now meeting Brittany’s judgmental gaze. “The children are wonderful, and not a second of my time is wasted there. We are raising the future, are we not? All God’s children should be taught to read and write if they are to participate in this great Republic we've built.”

“Even people like Mercedes?”

“Mercedes and Santana...they are just as deserving as we are to be considered American. This nation fought against oppression and foreign rule so we could conduct our own affairs on our own terms. I don't believe anyone residing on these lands should still be subject to an oppressive system, or we’re all hypocrites.”

“Do you ever fear that you may be too radical-minded and be called a heretic?”

“I do fear on occasion. But it passes when I remember that I'm not alone. Ohio entered the union as a free state so people like Mercedes can live without fear of enslavement. She is your servant, no? I would like to know more about her, if you don't mind.” Blaine placed a hand at Brittany’s back, guiding her forward to resume their jaunt.

“Mercedes has been in our home since as long as I can remember. We pay her handsomely of course. Father wouldn't have it any other way. She's a lovely person and has always taken care of me, especially when Papa’s away on business or locked up in his study.”

They continued on in silence for a few moments, their footsteps briefly falling into sync and then out again.

“I didn't mean to be so bold,” Brittany said. “I believe what you do is honorable. There isn't a day that passes that I don't wish I’d been able to attend school with other children. My private studies with my tutor kept me isolated. Santana is the only person close to my age I ever really spend time with.”

“You haven't been far from home then,” Blaine said, more a statement than a question.

Brittany shook her head. “Mon oncle Sebastian tells me grand stories of Paris, and I've begged him to take me with him across the sea. He brings back gifts from his travels to ease my curiosity and wanderlust. They help a bit. I've heard all about the fancy ladies, and I want to mix with them, step into their shoes for a day,” she gushed, her face and eyes alight as Blaine had never seen them before.

“The shoes on your feet are very lovely,” Blaine commented in partial jest.

Brittany bowed her head again, feeling sheepish as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Thank you for the compliment.”

The sun beat down directly above them now, and Blaine tightened his grip on the parasol’s handle as they strolled along the perimeter, holding it a bit higher to keep her in the shade, though it was somewhat tough since she was a bit taller, especially in her heels.

“I've been to New York on many occasions. My father came west from the city to start a family. The great city on the island of Manhattan rivals Paris. There's so much life there, goods from all over coming in daily on ships off the Hudson. And there are so many wonderful people to mix with. I've never seen women quite like those in New York.”

“I suppose I would like to see New York, too. Will you take me there?”

Blaine swallowed hard. “Perhaps someday.” His arm was growing tired, and Blaine hoped their walk would end soon. He changed the topic to take his mind off the pain. “So, your heart is set on Paris? Our alliance with France has been most fortunate, yet it's terrifying to have the British so close to home and to be in the midst of another war. I had heard so many stories growing up of how gruesome the Revolution was, and I hope we never have to relive it.”

“Men are too quick to throw fists when they disagree,” Brittany remarked.

Blaine said nothing, having no rebuttal to offer. He knew the truth in her words.

A calm quiet settled between them again as their walk neared its conclusion, the manor only a few paces away now.

Blaine's coach had been waiting for him beyond the entranceway. As was customary and proper, he returned Brittany home, accompanying her inside and thanking her for her time before taking his leave.

From a distance, Kurt had watched Brittany come in and then immediately rush to Santana, both disappearing on their way toward her bed chamber, no doubt to gossip about the day.

While he was concerned about his daughter’s happiness and the likelihood that this match would lead to a marriage, Kurt found himself more strongly concerned with how Blaine was faring. He would do all he could to be accommodating, and he hoped Blaine would call again soon.

 

***

 

In few short days, Blaine graced the household with his presence again, his visits soon becoming more frequent as the weeks passed and the trees grew skeletal and bare.

With the change in the weather, Kurt toiled from the comfort of his study, sometimes remaining holed up there for days on end. Winter’s imminent arrival brought with it difficulties typical of the season such as travel and transportation of goods, but with the current occupation of Lake Erie by the British Royal Navy, Kurt couldn’t help but fear that history would repeat itself and his livelihood was at stake.

He had nearly lost his entire fortune just a few years prior when President Jefferson imposed an embargo on Great Britain. For merchants like himself, the results were disastrous. If it hadn’t been lifted, he wasn’t sure how he would have persisted. The uncertainty that wartime created, the atmosphere of disquiet, only heightened the urgency with which Kurt worked to marry off Brittany to ensure she would have a prosperous future.

A knock at his door stirred him from his thoughts, and he rose to answer, smiling when he saw Mercedes on the other side, standing patiently in the hall.

“Pardon me, Mr. Hummel, but Mr. Anderson has arrived.”

“Thank you for informing me,” Kurt said, his heart beating just a little more quickly at the mention of Blaine.

No matter how busy or wrapped up in his work Kurt was, he was certain to make time to check in with Blaine. Each announcement of his visits was like a welcome reprieve, giving Kurt an excuse to step away and take a break.

As the seasons changed, something inside Kurt shifted. Every time he laid eyes on the young man, Kurt began to notice more subtle things about him. The way his eyes were like bits of the sun and stars and golden as honey, the way his skin looked like it had been kissed by the gentlest of the sun’s rays, how his dark hair curled like that of Michaelangelo’s _David_ , and how his body was slight yet shapely as if it had been sculpted in like manner.

When he called, Kurt hadn't said but few words to Blaine outside of greetings, but hearing his voice acted on him like a spell of sorts, and Kurt was seized by bouts of chills.

One particularly cold day, when the grass was all but dried and dead and coated with frost, Kurt pulled open the doors of his wardrobe. His fingers brushed over each garment, feeling the various textures as he sifted through. Having seen the first snowflakes fall and knowing that Blaine was currently en route, a thought had come to him, paternal instinct taking over. Making a selection, he plucked a mink fur cape the color of rich cocoa from its hanger, lifting it to examine it.

Like clockwork, Mercedes came to the door of his quarters to announce Blaine's arrival, and Kurt took the cape down to the parlor to greet him.

As he stepped into view, Blaine removed his hat. “Good day, Mr. Hummel.”

“Marvelous day, Blaine.” Humming, Kurt moved swiftly through the room, holding the cape aloft in both hands. “It’s been getting dreadfully cold outside, and it’s imperative that you stay warm in the harsh winter days to come. For you,” he said, thrusting it toward him.

Blaine was overwhelmed by the gift, unsure of what to say. “How could I ever express my gratitude for such a generous gift?”

“By accepting it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine reached for the cape to accept it without argument, but, much to his dismay, Kurt pulled it back at the last moment.

“Allow me.” Kurt draped the luxurious fur over Blaine's shoulders, making adjustments and pulling closed the clasp over his chest. He stood there, gently gripping Blaine's shoulders, admiring it, his gaze and hands lingering for longer than necessary.

If there was one thing Kurt knew, it was clothing and how to dress to make one’s position in society known. It was clear that Brittany inherited neither his knack nor his fondness for clothes, so he took great pride and joy in dressing her to ensure she appeared neat, smart, and sophisticated. In fact, dressing his daughter was sometimes the only thing he knew to show he cared and was a way to connect with her when he often felt he knew nothing about her.

Gifting Blaine the cape felt innocent enough. After all, he was to become family in the near future as long as things continued as they were. He did feel something for him, a man who would soon be his son-in-law. Kurt wondered though if the way his body reacted to seeing Blaine and the way just hearing his name made his breath hitch wasn’t a deeper feeling, something unnatural and wrong. It wouldn’t have concerned him if he hadn’t caught himself having impure and dangerous thoughts, a yearning to touch him, to admire him, Sebastian’s words, “extraordinarily handsome”, constantly on the tip of his tongue yet never dared spoken.

Whatever the reason, Kurt had a strong desire to dress him like royalty in the finest furs in his possession, and Blaine wore them well.

The cape immediately drew in Blaine’s body heat, warming him and protecting him from the draft that had followed him inside. Running his fingers over the soft fur, Blaine knew Kurt was watching him almost expectantly, and he couldn’t help feel a bit flustered. It wasn’t customary to give gifts without an occasion or specific intentions, and Blaine’s first thought was that the gift was a bribe. Hadn’t Kurt seen that it wasn’t necessary? The courtship had continued with no complications, and Brittany would be his bride in due time. Regardless, his acceptance of the gift pleased Kurt.

Blaine looked up, their eyes meeting, and the fond expression Kurt wore as he gazed at him in the furs stirred something in Blaine, an odd feeling that grew so intense that he had to look away.

Kurt found it peculiar, the way Blaine grew bashful under his gaze, and he wondered if he had not been alone in his sinful fantasies.

November grew more bitter, and Kurt grew hungrier, craving Blaine's company, incapable of ridding his mind of intrusive thoughts about the young man. Soon, the feelings became unbearable, and Kurt felt like a morphine addict fiending for his next fix, just the sound of his voice enough to temporarily ease his pain.

It was maddening, and Kurt worried that he might act out on his impulses if he didn't confide in someone. There were few he could trust with secrets of that nature, but intuition told him that Sebastian might lend a sympathetic ear and perhaps have advice of a forbidden nature.

He could never know for certain, but there were signs, sometimes subtle, sometimes not. Sebastian had never been married, and it seemed he preferred the company of men, most of the stories he told involving drinking and smoking and partaking in vague acts with friends and strangers. To be homosexual in France was no longer criminal, though God was surely judging them.

Kurt arranged an afternoon tea, his stomach roiling with nerves as he awaited Sebastian’s arrival and mentally prepared himself. Earlier in the day, Blaine had come around and taken Brittany into town, so he knew they would have ample time and privacy to discuss such sensitive matters.

“Mr. Smythe has arrived,” Mercedes announced, and she was quickly shooed away, but not unkindly.

Sebastian pressed a quick kissed to her cheek. “It’s okay, ma chère Mercedes. There’s no need for the formality, not for my sake.”

“G’day, Sebastian,” she said with a nod and a dazed smile, excusing herself and closing the door to the drawing room.

“Have a seat, brother,” Kurt said, gesturing toward the chair across the small, round table.

He obliged, crossing his legs as he poured himself a cup from the teapot. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

“It’s,” Kurt hesitated, pursing his lips, “of a complicated nature. I’m in need of your counsel.”

“I can see in your eyes that something is worrying you greatly.”

“It's Blaine.”

“Ah, the strapping gentleman you picked out for Brittany.”

“Yes, the very one. He comes around quite often now, and I expect there will be a proposal of marriage any day now.”

“But you are having second thoughts?”

“Not about the arrangement, no. Blaine's presence had been rather _trying_ ,” Kurt said, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been finding him distracting.”

“How do you mean?”

Kurt fidgeted in his seat, crossing his legs. “Whenever he's around, my body wakes up, but at the same time, it feels like death overtakes me. I sometimes have these unnatural urges.” Kurt became flushed upon confession.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, looking as if he was able to read something on Kurt’s face, and then they widened in recognition. “Mon Dieu. I had suspected something, call it intuition or what you will, but it’s true then. Vous voulez le baiser.”

Hearing it uttered aloud struck Kurt in such a way that his blood turned to ice and his breath hitched like the wind had been knocked out of him. The vulgarity of Sebastian’s statement was like a slap to the face, but it felt like a punishment Kurt deserved for entertaining such thoughts, especially about his daughter’s beloved.

"Détendez-vous, Kurt. You are in like company.”

His breath came like a sudden spring after months of the bitterest cold, the feeling swiftly returning to his body. Kurt shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “I thought you might understand.”

“Very much so. I also understand your fear. America thinks it is a land of freedom, the ‘New World’, but it is backwards. You are a good Christian, no? D'être homosexuel...to most, it is worse than slaughter. L'amour c'est l'amour, my brother.”

“Vous ne me détestez pas? I mean, there was Sophie…”

Sebastian placed a comforting hand on Kurt’s, leaning over the table. “You loved her. I could never hate you for that. It’s been seventeen years, Kurt. Your heart can know another.”

“Devout Christians do not feel the things I feel,” Kurt said, growing angry with himself. “What about the sodomites? I will certainly be met with fire and brimstone at my demise.”

“I know it is not easy. Mais, écoutez-moi...life is too full of sorrow to chase dreams of someone else’s design. I fancy myself a rebel, and I know that my lifestyle is frowned upon in most social circles, but at least I feel liberated, not shackled by morals, and there are places where the men are like-minded if you look hard enough.”

Kurt was both intrigued and disgusted with himself, feeling guilty about lusting after his future son-in-law. If truth be told, he was not very religious, but his Baptist upbringing caused him to feel tremendous guilt and shame. Homosexuality was a crime against the law of man and nature, and if he pursued his uncouth desires, he risked losing everything and tarnishing and destroying his family's name.

“More tea and cookies, Mr. Hummel?”

Kurt looked up with a start, surprised to see Mercedes there. He hadn't heard the door open whilst talking, but he knew she had been in and out, hovering and listening to every word.

Mercedes knew his deepest, darkest secrets, enough to have him locked away for life or lynched, consequences that would leave him destitute if not dead, but there was no one Kurt trusted more.

She had been with him since before Brittany's birth, and when her mother died, Kurt would have lost his newborn daughter too if it hadn't been for Mercedes. She wasn't just a servant in their household, she was his closest friend and the closest thing to a mother Brittany had.

“It must be a different world in Europe.”

“The world has always been what you make of it, though it tends to want to make you. You must resist it if you desire to taste true freedom. Americans, they yell ‘revolution!’, but you’re stuck in your ways, the old ways of the Empire.”

 _"L'empire,"_  Kurt spat, springing to his feet and nearly upsetting the table. “I was born on the eve of Independence, and I’ll be damned if I ever give my allegiance to the monarchy!” His hand came down hard on the tabletop, tea splashing out of his cup.

Sebastian was unusually unperturbed by the outburst, his pinky extended as he leaned back and took a lengthy sip. His eyes were dancing with delight as he looked at Kurt over the cup’s brim. The teacup clinked against the saucer. “Il y a la passion.”

Slowly, steadily, Kurt sat back down, ashamed and trembling from his sudden fit. “I apologize. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Never apologize for possessing the zest of life. Your heart is full, Kurt Hummel, and your soul screams to be set free.”

Kurt looked at Sebastian as if he was a stranger. The man sitting across from him was no longer just his brother-in-law, but a confidant; there was an unspeakable, dangerous bond between them. Sebastian’s late sister and Kurt’s late wife was no longer the main thread that connected them.

“The self-loathing,” Sebastian said, “it goes away. It is merely a matter of discretion, and I know you are wise. Once you accept it, you will know the true pleasures of being exactly who you were meant to be.”


	3. December, 1812

It was difficult to believe how swiftly the years passed. It felt like only yesterday Mercedes had been swaddling and cradling a tiny infant Brittany, nursing the poor motherless babe with the milk from her own breasts. Now, that infant was a beautiful young woman, hanging on the arm of a gentleman, who had been pursuing her quite fervently. On the surface, it appeared to be a perfect match, an advantageous match, but Mercedes had seen and heard enough in the household to know that what went on behind closed doors shattered their picture perfect facade.

Born into slavery, Mercedes had known little else, and from a young age she’d witnessed horrors beyond her understanding. White men believed they had an inalienable right, to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness at the expense of others, and they forced more than themselves on those they oppressed. They believed in the God-given right to lay claim to land and carve up the earth like the carcass of a deer, to the bodies of the indigenous peoples, of black people, and of women.

Her God was surely not the same God of those who bought and sold her family like cattle and forced them to labor without pay in a hopeless system, but her faith was restored and strengthened when she learned that white men could use their power for good. She’d heard stories of white men and their families who harbored fugitive slaves and aided their escape into the northern territories and to Canada where they could live as free individuals; they called themselves abolitionists.

Plantation life was unforgiving. She’d barely known any sense of stability, with family and friends coming and going, and when she began to menstruate, Mercedes was put up for auction like a dog in heat prime for breeding. But there were men in the crowd, powerful wealthy northerners who weren’t interested in her value as a fertile body, rather, they saw her as a person. The price that Mr. Burt Hummel paid for her became the price of her freedom. Legally freed as soon as her feet touched Ohio soil, Mercedes was educated beside her employer’s son while working for fair wages, and in their household she remained.

In her life, Mercedes had seen the unimaginable, had experienced acts of kindness and grace in the face of abuse, and as she grew older and wiser, it seemed like not much could shock her. Like every family, the Hummel’s had their fair share of secrets, but after spending years in close company, the revelation of Kurt Hummel’s biggest secret hadn’t felt like a revelation at all. There were ways about the young man that were unusual, certain mannerisms and interests and the way he paid attention to the other boys and young men his age, and she’d found it strange, but now that Kurt had spoken his truth, it felt like clarity. A man lying with another man was an abomination in the eyes of mankind and God, but Mercedes knew that her God was a forgiving God, and a man as kind and honest as Kurt Hummel would not face eternal damnation for love, yet she couldn’t shake the disquiet she felt now that she knew the hidden intentions behind Kurt’s matchmaking.

From a distance, Mercedes had witnessed the marriage proposal, and it should not have come as much a shock as it had that Brittany accepted. More alarming yet was Kurt’s ecstatic reaction to the declaration. In the following week, he wasted no time making arrangements with the church, having the proper legal documents prepared, having a dress and a trousseau made for Brittany, and doing all he could to ensure that the wedding would take place before the first heavy snowfall and the advent of winter.

Winter was the ideal season for love and passion. Cold weather and long nights led to being cooped up indoors and in close quarters, and Kurt wanted the couple wed so they could consummate the marriage and kindle a true romance.

The steeple of the church rose high above the town, piercing the dark, dense clouds that hung low with the threat of precipitation, yet the oncoming storm could not deter the joyous affair taking place within the chapel’s walls.

While Kurt mingled with Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Sebastian stood nearby, intermittently joining the conversation, but he was preoccupied with what was going on beneath the surface. Kurt was lively and in excellent spirits, but Sebastian worried about him.

He touched Kurt’s arm. “Everything is fine?”

Kurt nodded. “The nuptials will begin shortly.”

“You are fine?” Sebastian asked again, more pointedly.

“All is well, Brother.” Kurt wore a peculiar grin. “That’s the fifth time you’ve asked me that, and my answer hasn’t changed.”

“It’s just that, marriage is, how you say, eternal...and you are giving away your only daughter,” Sebastian said. “Once Brittany becomes Blaine’s, she will become a part of the Anderson household. When she leaves, you will have lost them both.”

Kurt grew flustered, his demeanor changing as his grin fell instantly to a grimace. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Everything about this feels right, and I just need the nuptials to go as smoothly as possible. Blaine won’t be taking Brittany away, not with the arrangement we made.”

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow, opening his mouth to respond, but then closed it again and shook his head, deciding not to prod any further.

In another room, Rachel picked at Blaine's suit, tweaking and smoothing little bits here and there, an uncharacteristic furrow in her brow. After fussing over every detail, carefully tying and adjusting his cravat, she finally stepped back with a sigh.

Blaine chuckled. “Why do you look as if you're suiting me up to send me off to battle? I'm getting married, Rachel, not dying.”

“I'm sorry, Blaine. I've just had a lot on my mind about the wedding and the arrangement. Don't you find it odd that Mr. Hummel has requested you move into his estate rather than join our family?”

“I admit that it’s an extraordinary circumstance, but Mr. Hummel has taken into account that there is more space in his home than our own. There’s no denying it’s true.”

“I know, but I can’t help but feel uneasy about it.” Rachel pouted. “Maybe it’s difficult for me to imagine being apart from you. It’s always been just me and you. We’ve barely spent a day apart, you know.”

Rachel watched her twin brother with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. But she'd known the day would come, Blaine's inevitable marriage, and she'd always known he would make a woman very happy one day. Blaine was a man with a gentle temperament, a man who loved people and could find the beauty in everyone and everything. They had often joked that they'd swapped sexes in the womb, that she was meant to be male while he was meant to be female. Rachel couldn't explain the uncertain feeling eating away at her, that something bad was going to happen, that the marriage was too sudden, too convenient. Then again, she knew that her sadness and apprehension stemmed mainly from the fact that, in a way, she was losing her other half, her closest sibling and best friend.

“I assure you, everything will be okay.” Blaine pressed a kiss to Rachel’s hair. “I’ll visit as often as possible, I promise.”

“I’m going to miss you, Brother.”

Blaine enveloped Rachel in his arms, holding her tightly to him. “I’m going to miss you too.” He pulled away and held her at arm’s length, a smile creeping onto his face. “I’m getting married.”

Rachel forced a watery smile.  

It was quiet within the walls of the bride’s room, though its occupants were busy at work, immaculately preparing and dressing Miss Hummel. In the center of the room, Brittany stood tall, adorned in a dress as white as the church's exterior and made of the finest silk and lace. She stared transfixed, unable to believe that she was the beautiful bride staring back at her, but she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t take her eyes off her striking image in the mirror.

Brittany’s eyes fell closed as soft lips grazed the skin of her neck, eliciting a faint moan. “Santana…”

“You look beautiful.” Santana pressed another kiss just below her ear. “As always.” Her fingers tangled in Brittany’s hair, nimbly weaving and braiding her golden locks. Her fingers knew Brittany’s hair well.

Brittany watched their reflection as Santana worked, pausing now and again to drag her lips over her skin, and goosebumps rose all along Brittany's arms. She melted with pleasure with each kiss and caress, Santana’s voice settling her nerves and soothing her.

“You don't need to go through with this if it's not what you want.”

Brittany met her dark, somber eyes in the mirror. “I like Blaine, and I know he’ll treat me right. Blaine Anderson is a gentleman who values conversation, music, and poetry. He never once tried to force me to do anything. He's only ever kissed my hand when we parted and once on my cheek after an evening out.”

Santana was intrigued by their lack of intimacy. “Maybe Mr. Anderson is of two-souls as I am, as you are.”

Brittany loved when Santana talked about tribal things. It was always so mystical and like poetry to her. “I think Blaine loves me,” she said, snapping out of her brief reverie. “It would be wrong to engage in such acts, especially before our marriage.”

“Come now, Brittany. You’re not that naive. When men want something from you, they take it, regardless of whether or not they think their God is watching. I’ve seen the way Blaine looks at you, and it’s not love. He doesn’t feel what I feel when I hold you...when I kiss you.”

Brittany giggled. “But that doesn’t count, right? We kiss sometimes because we are bosom friends. I love you, Santana, with all my heart, but I’m going to be Mrs. Blaine Anderson now.”

Unable to continue looking at Brittany, Santana dropped her gaze to the floor. Absently, she turned to the bureau, retrieving Brittany’s gloves, the final piece of her outfit. Reluctantly, she handed them over, barely able to lift her head to take in everything she was about to lose.

Once Brittany pulled on the gloves, wiggling and flexing her fingers and looking at her hands in turn, she turned around and grabbed Santana's hands, sliding their fingers together until their palms were touching, and then she pressed a tender yet firm kiss to her mouth, lingering just a bit longer than usual. She pulled away with a sigh and a small, close-mouthed smile.

Santana's eyes were wide and shining with unshed tears, and her lip began to tremble. She blinked hard, swallowing the lump in her throat, collecting and steeling herself. Committing herself to remain brave, she held her hand out. “Ready?”

Brittany nodded, taking the offered hand, and Santana escorted the bride into the sanctuary where her father would walk her down the aisle to exchange vows with Blaine.

Heads and bodies turned upon her entrance, and Kurt hooked their arms and guided her toward the altar. With each step, Kurt's heart beat harder, faster, his attention caught and held by the man to whom he would deliver her. Blaine looked even more luminous, more handsome than usual, his curls neat and set, his cravat starched and jacket and pants flawlessly framing the subtle curvature of his body, his boots clean and polished...and his eyes, the way they lit up as they met Kurt's, undoubtedly following his progress rather than that of the woman on his arm, the tension broken only when Brittany was mere feet away.

Kurt let go, his hand falling limply to his side.

Blaine took her hands before the minister, who cracked open the Bible in his hands and began to read the scriptures.

“‘Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away. If one were to give all the wealth of one’s house for love, it would be utterly scorned.’”

Kurt shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling restless.

“‘But at the beginning of creation God ‘made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh.’”

Brittany earnestly delivered her vows, Blaine’s encouraging smile putting her at ease.

With the exchange of rings, they were bound to each other.

“...by the authority vested in me, I pronounce that they are husband and wife together. Those that God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

Beyond the pews and by the sanctuary’s threshold stood Mercedes with Santana, who was desperately fighting back tears, determined to stay strong.

The minister’s voice rang out and echoed throughout the sanctuary like a death knell.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Blaine leaned in, his eyes closing as their mouths met. It was stiff and uncertain, but Blaine kissed her a little more deeply, and something inside him stirred.

Kurt’s stomach turned as he watched.

Sebastian hadn’t torn his eyes from Kurt.

Rachel sobbed hysterically into her handkerchief.

Mercedes placed a comforting hand at Santana’s back. “You’ll never lose her. Mr. Anderson may have her body, but her heart has already been spoken for.”

Santana’s breath wavered. “Thank you, Mercedes.” Tears began to roll down her face as she finally allowed herself to cry.


	4. January, 1813

Legs crossed, head bowed and eyes directed at the open page, Blaine appeared to be engrossed in a book about law. The fireplace crackled beside him, providing warmth and light in the otherwise dim room. Although the library was quiet, no other soul in sight, Blaine couldn’t focus for the life of him, his mind in turmoil as he recounted his wedding night and the evenings that followed. Subsequently, he’d had these recurring intrusive thoughts over the past few weeks that would creep up on him at the most inappropriate moments, interrupting his work and day-to-day activities. The only peace he got was when he was at the schoolhouse delivering his lessons.

The gold ring felt heavy on his left hand, and he flexed his fingers, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the metal band. There were certain husbandly duties he’d had every intention to fulfill; upon taking Brittany as his bride, he was to take her virginity so that she may begin to bear them children, not only to carry on his own legacy, but that of Mr. Hummel and his estate. And he wanted so badly to be able to give Kurt grandchildren, yet something inside his body fought him.

Blaine was ashamed and frustrated that he could not manage to consummate the marriage. God, when Brittany was laid out before him in complete submission, her supple breasts and smooth, milky skin on full display, he wanted to know her, to feel and taste her. The moonlight poured across her body, framing her like a halo, and Blaine thought she looked like Aphrodite, and he could have recited poetry about her golden aura.

Despite her pleasing aspects and mien, Blaine could not will his body to arouse in order to engage in intercourse. If he couldn’t take his wife’s virginity, then what kind of man was he? Surely, Brittany deserved much more than an impotent, incompetent man, though she was exceptionally kind and understanding of his shortcoming.

For all anyone knew, they had properly consummated the marriage, and he planned to keep it that way and to keep the peace. With Brittany’s cooperation, the deception was simple enough, but Blaine couldn’t cease the conflict that ravaged his mind and body. What could have rendered him incapable of sex with Brittany? Blaine knew that what he felt for her was love, but he didn’t desire her in that way, which led him to believe there was something wrong with him.

And the way Kurt looked at him as he walked Brittany down the aisle…

The image of Kurt’s face was burned into his memory. When Blaine thought about him as he often did, when he was in his presence, something happened to him that he couldn’t explain, something aroused in him that felt very much like desire, but he felt dirty for even considering it. Homosexual tendencies were not something of myth, and he’d known of men who lived deviant lives, despite the fear of the most severe consequences. Blaine could deny it all he wanted, that he was anything like those sinners who gave into immoral temptations, yet, there was something about Kurt, the reason he agreed to live here rather than take his bride elsewhere, that drew him in and made him feel weak.

A chill racked his body, causing him to shiver almost violently, as if his body was trying to shake off and rid him of his guilt. Blaine carefully turned the page, yet he’d absorbed nothing as his eyes scanned text he couldn’t process. Resigned, he finally closed the book, about to rise to return it to the shelf when the sound of footsteps captured Blaine’s attention, and he turned to see Mr. Hummel approaching.

Out of the utmost respect, Blaine rose to his feet, inviting Kurt to have a seat nearby before he resumed his own.

Kurt’s expression was soft, but when he spoke, he took on an air of authority. “You’ve been good to my daughter.”

His tone was clearly suggestive of the very thing Blaine had been brooding over, and Blaine wondered if his thoughts were not scrawled across his face in ebony ink. Blaine knew Mr. Hummel was concerned that he’d been gentle while bedding her, and he was determined to keep up the charade.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“She tells me her marriage bed is a happy one.”

“Brittany has been kind.”

Kurt swallowed hard, fidgeting in his seat as he was hit with a wave of acute nausea. He wasn’t sure why he’d been expecting a response of a different nature, knowing that Blaine was a man of his word. He also knew that the young man was perceptive and no fool, which had instilled in him a hope that perhaps his acceptance of taking up residence in Kurt’s home was more than just a dutiful one.

But, if the deed was done, if Blaine had truly had sex with Brittany, then she could be with child or might soon be, and it was against Kurt’s better judgment to interfere, to become the worst kind of adulterer. The way his gut twisted and churned at the thought, that Blaine was forbidden fruit firmly planted in his garden that he could only gaze upon and not taste, Kurt knew he must suppress and never let his true feelings show. Yet, as a businessman, it was also in his nature to not give up so easily.

Blaine could see the way Kurt seized up, like he was attempting to hold back the tide, a struggle that always proved in vain. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Kurt’s were exposing a soul that was as troubled as Blaine felt. In that moment, Blaine had hoped Kurt would admit to jealousy or that he’d brought Blaine into his home under false pretenses so he didn’t feel so messed up, that he’d admit that he lusted after him and that his lavish gifts were to lure him in, but when Kurt said nothing, Blaine’s doubt and discomfort grew.

Leaning forward, his palms pressed together and chin resting on his fingertips, Kurt finally spoke. “Have I been hospitable?”

“Yes, sir, very.”

“How often do you come up here?”

“Once a day, usually, sometimes twice. It’s quiet. Being in the library and immersing myself in my studies helps me to clear my mind.”

“I understand. I often find myself in my private study, pondering, alone…”

Blaine watched the way Kurt’s body relaxed, how he uncrossed his legs and slouched a bit as he stroked his cravat, never breaking eye contact. It was driving him mad, how Kurt drew attention to his neck, shoulders, those broad yet delicate hands, and the tightness of his buckskin breeches, which hugged his hips and groin. When his lips parted, it took everything within Blaine to bite back a whimper.

“Occasionally, it can get rather lonely,” Kurt continued, this time licking his lips.

Blaine felt he must be imagining it, but he took the not entirely subtle comments and body language as an indirect invitation, though he wanted to be certain.

Blaine crossed his legs to conceal his body’s betrayal. “Could I perhaps visit your study, when privacy is of the utmost importance?”

Kurt’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “If you desire my counsel, then you are welcome, especially when the door is closed.”

There was no doubt now that the implications of their discourse was no figment of Blaine’s imagination, and he felt his pants grow increasingly tight as he bit back the urge to give voice to his dangerous thoughts.

Kurt’s half smile turned into a smirk, like he knew exactly what he had done to Blaine.

He rose to his feet again, taking on his usual air, as if the interaction had not taken place. “I shall see you at dinner, Blaine.”

Mouth slightly agape, Blaine stared dumbfounded as Kurt crossed the room and threshold, disappearing into the hall.

 

***

 

The impudent exchange with Mr. Hummel kept Blaine up for countless nights, while Brittany slept soundly beside him. Though she lay just inches away and he could feel the heat of her body and hear her soft breaths, the distance between them felt like it expanded as each day passed that concluded with a night devoid of lovemaking. The more he considered it, the more ravenous and curious he grew. He’d not given in to Kurt’s seduction and advances or been unfaithful to his wife, but simply entertaining his lustful thoughts toward her father, his father-in-law, made him feel as if he had. The consequences of seeking out Kurt in his study were too grave, the fear too great. Blaine believed he was a strong-willed, good Christian man, and he could battle the temptation to sin in such an extreme manner.

Despite exercising incredible restraint, there were moments when Blaine was afraid he was too weak to resist, the most recent being after an evening of entertaining guests with music and some of the finest spirits: wines imported from France, whiskey from Kentucky, rum imported from the Caribbean.

Kurt was a generous host, making certain that no man’s glass went empty. The liquor in their bloodstreams kept the guests warm and happy, their carousing carrying on late into the night.

After knocking back a few libations, Blaine could feel his consciousness slipping away, the room around him spinning as he spun around and around, dancing a few songs with Brittany before he grew too woozy to go on. The party was mainly for the gentlemen, the ladies only stopping in to greet them, have a dance or two, and then retire to bed.

As the evening progressed, he’d found himself gravitating closer and closer to Kurt, who received the attention with an unbridled enthusiasm.

“I see that you’ve lost your dance partner.” Kurt’s hot breath reeked of a cocktail of ardent spirits, his intoxication making him limber and giddy.

He was standing close enough for Blaine to be overwhelmed by his person, the proximity in rather prestigious company doing nothing to repel Blaine, though the danger was known. His alcohol-addled mind allowed him to throw caution to the wind, and he flashed a coquettish grin. “If you are referring to the beautiful blonde with eyes like sapphires, then, yes, she’s deserted me to warm our bed. But I don’t need a woman to dance.”

Blaine’s voice went unusually deep and gruff, and Kurt’s eyes grew wide and dark at the remark. Clumsily, he clapped Blaine on the back, his hand sliding slowly down until it rested just above his bottom. “I don’t doubt your ability to go solo with finesse. ‘Know thyself’...there are things in this world that move us even if we can’t quite comprehend those driving forces.”

Acutely aware of the pressure of Kurt’s palm and the digging of his fingertips through the fabric of his jacket, Blaine immediately lamented the absence upon the removal of his hand. Every cell of his blood seared through his body, and his breath caught in his chest. “Perhaps what we don’t know should be pursued with more passion. Perhaps acts of passion beget knowledge more valuable than our solitary suffering.”

Kurt’s lips quirked, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps the greatest knowledge can be obtained through amorous congress, when minds and bodies come together.”

Suddenly, Blaine’s current situation struck him, sobering him enough to realize his potential transgression, and he was overcome with fear, quickly glancing around the room and taking a step back. “Pardon me, but I - I must leave. My wife…” his voice died in his throat as he turned on his heel, hurrying toward the staircase, breaking into a run as if to escape a mortar explosion.

Close. Too close. Blaine’s heart pounded painfully, his chest and stomach like a contained thunderstorm, crashing and thrashing, his breath coming short. He’d reached the sanctuary of his room, cursing himself as he stripped down into his small clothes.

Brittany stirred as Blaine was pulling on a nightshirt, rolling over and cracking open her eyes in a sleepy daze.

“Blaine?”

Her voice was as weak as a sigh.

Without a word, he climbed into the bed beside her, pulling the covers up and settling in. Ever so gently, he brushed her loose hair from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead, squeezing his eyes shut as he bit his lip until he tasted blood.

The scent of her perfume upon the pillow and sheets seemed to bring him to his senses, and he whispered softly, “Go back to sleep, my love…I’m right here.”


	5. February, 1813

The eighteen inches of fresh sleek snow that laid upon the ground like a heavy quilt over the frozen, reposed earth made travel and excursions into town nearly impossible. Although the crooked Cuyahoga River was frozen over, the ice thick enough to support the weight of thrill-seekers who dared go ice skating or cross it, the brutally frigid below zero temperature was enough to keep even the most foolhardy people like Brittany indoors, huddled as close to the fireplace as possible.

In light of the weather, the schoolhouse was in recess, and teacher and students alike were confined to their homes and free of lessons.

With its many rooms and passageways, the ample space that the Hummel manor provided seemed to grow smaller, and the residents of the estate were going stir crazy, growing restless and bored, all except Kurt, who, wrapped in layer upon layer of garments crafted from hides and furs, braved the cold and left the house often to conduct business and trade as usual.

Winter was the peak season to procure furs of the purest white, and Kurt came and went as he worked out deals, composed a team of hunters, and made and received shipments, scoring some of the finest ermines and foxes.

Determined not to slip up again, Blaine moved about the house with as much care as navigating a minefield, increasingly aware of Kurt's presence and absence. He'd been reckless in the past, so on the occasions he could not avoid coming into contact with Kurt, he made sure to have his guard up. Blaine needed to protect himself and to protect Brittany, because so much was at stake, namely her future and well-being, not to mention the disgrace he would bring to his family and his name if his actions were discovered, and he wasn't sure if he could fully trust himself.

It wasn’t long before Blaine learned the patterns of Kurt’s coming and going; Kurt would leave before sunrise, be back before supper, and following dinner, he always retired to his study.

The few times Kurt had caught his eye or managed to corner him, he held nothing back, his passing comments and not-so-subtle glances driving Blaine to what felt like utter madness.

His attraction to Kurt soon drove him to extreme measures.

Not since the previous month had Blaine tried to be intimate with Brittany, and even the chaste touches and kisses they shared became few and far between, feeling forced when done in front of company to appear as if nothing was wrong. In fact, they rarely showed affection behind closed doors, yet Brittany never seemed to mind. Eventually the truth was bound to come out, so Blaine would change his truth.

That evening, upon the conclusion of a celebratory Valentine’s Day feast, like clockwork, Kurt retired to his study. It had been a day filled with public affections and letters of passion, and, caught up in the moment, no other time seemed better. With unwavering resolve, Blaine led Brittany to prematurely retire to their bedchamber.

The room grew darker by the minute as the wicks of the candlesticks on the mantel and dresser burned down, the minuscule flames flickering faintly as if taking their final breaths. Closing the curtains of their four-poster did little to shield the couple from the chilly air that engulfed them in the settling darkness and urged their bodies closer together beneath the blankets of their bed, their collective weight causing them to sink into the center of the mattress.

The spirits he’d consumed at dinner emboldened him, and Blaine undressed Brittany, kissing her mouth and caressing every inch of her body. He admired his beautiful Aphrodite, a slight pang accompanying the thought that he meant to defile something so pure, but he pushed the thought away and began to rut against her, hoping the physical stimulation was enough to get him hard.

Brittany’s lashes fluttered as her eyelids drooped, and she moaned faintly, rolling onto her side until she was flush with Blaine. She could feel all of him, the slight pressure of his budding erection against her hip slightly alarming her. Though she’d been like this with her husband before, she’d never felt his arousal. She tensed up but soon relaxed, submitting and focusing on the sensation.

“I love you,” Blaine whispered through the dark, “I love you, I love you…”

And he did, he did love her, but it wasn't Brittany he was trying to convince with the repetition of the sentiment.

Blaine turned her over so she laid supine, and as he climbed on top of her, he told himself it was just like dancing; all he had to do was take hold and lead, just as they'd danced before, moving to a steady rhythm as partners.

She felt so solid yet fragile beneath him, her skin and breasts warm and pliant and soft against his skin, and he rolled his hips, catching friction on her thigh. But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Kurt, that sultry gaze from those piercing blue eyes, imagined those strong hands holding him, his hard, muscled exterior, like alabaster stone, so smooth he could run his tongue over it, could taste the salt, and what laid beneath those sinfully form-fitting breeches of his...

Fingers wrapped around Blaine’s achingly firm cock to guide him, and his eyes flew open, his entire body going rigid when he saw Brittany’s face, now fraught with confusion, staring back at him.

He gaped wordlessly before regaining his wits.

“I - I can't do this.”

Blaine quickly rolled off her, sitting up and shaking his head before burying his face in his hands. Brittany touched his arm in attempt to comfort him, but Blaine pulled away, climbing out of the bed and pulling on his shirt and trousers from the day.

Brittany sat up, her expression despondent.

Blaine looked back at his wife one last time as he pulled on his jacket. The way she was hunched over on their bed, naked and exposed and eyes wide and disoriented like a baby deer lost in the woods, made his stomach jolt and turn like the sea tossed in a hurricane. For as long as he held eye contact, he was caught in the eye of the storm. But now was the time to break the tether and face it head on.

“Where are you going?”

There was no answer, just the sound of hurried footsteps and the opening and closing of a door.

Not long after his departure, the door creaked open again. A slender figure trod lightly on tiptoe across the floor like a phantom gliding through the night, sweeping back the curtains and covers before slipping beneath them.

 

***

 

Blaine stood beyond the threshold, his trembling fist poised in the air, hand clutched so tightly his knuckles glowed white and fingernails began to dig into his palm.

It wasn't too late. He could still turn back and pretend he'd never been there. He bit his lip, shuffling in place, and then struck the door, weakly at first, but then with more confidence, and again with more certainty, flinching as the knocks resounded through the empty hall.  

Changing his truth, altering the very fibers of his being and soul... None of it was worth the sacrifice and loss of his integrity. Blaine could deny his feelings, allow them to build up inside him and fester, but he’d never been a dishonest man, and he was tired of the illness taking over his mind and limbs.

The door of the study swung slowly open to reveal its rather baffled occupant.

“Mr. Anderson,” Kurt greeted, quirking a brow. Blaine was nearly fully dressed, though haphazardly, his outfit and expression disheveled. He licked his lips. “Have you come for counsel?”

“I have.” His voice was small but unwavering.

Kurt’s eyes narrowed, flitting quickly up and down Blaine’s body. “On the day of cupids and love, why aren’t you currently entertaining my daughter?”

“She’s spoken for.”

Kurt crossed his arms and huffed, eyes shining in amusement. “Why, yes, by you. Have you forgotten your vows?”

His mouth had gone dry, and he swallowed hard. “No, never.”

“But still you come to me, willing?”

Blaine’s heart felt like it might burst from his chest.

“I do.”

Kurt pulled open the door completely, beckoning Blaine inside.

“I thought you’d never give in.”

Feeling dizzy, his entire body buzzing with intense anxiety and vigor, Blaine followed Kurt toward his desk, his hand flying out to grab his wrist before he could stop himself. Kurt spun around with a faint gasp, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

“Don’t play the fool, Kurt. You did everything you could to break me, knowing perfectly well what my duties to your daughter are. I should despise you for it, for turning me into this animal that hungers for what’s forbidden, never to be quenched or satisfied. But I don’t.” Grip tightening, he jerked Kurt forward, his other arm encircling and pulling him in close enough to be overwhelmed by his heady cologne, a mixture of citrus and cloves. Blaine inhaled deeply, allowing his bodily desires to take over as he leaned in, his mouth now only centimeters from Kurt’s ear. “You’re the devil, Mr. Hummel, and I shouldn’t want you like I do, but I can’t fight it anymore.”

Kurt’s breath hitched when Blaine’s hardness pressed against his leg, his rapid breath hot on his neck. “No one can ever know about this -”

Blaine silenced him with a fierce, searing kiss, and their bodies awoke like never before.

“My god,” Kurt breathed, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling, and then Blaine’s mouth was trailing along his jawline, down his neck, teeth and tongue lightly scraping over his skin.

“Touch me,” Blaine begged, sliding Kurt’s hand down to his groin to feel his arousal. 

Blaine released his grip, falling utterly apart as Kurt cupped his thick, hard cock through the fabric, squeezing before deliberately dragging his fingers upward toward his waistband. Then he latched his mouth onto Blaine’s, nearly forgetting to breathe as he kissed him back with an insatiable desire. Eyes falling closed, Kurt’s other hand raked down Blaine’s abdomen, relishing the way it ridged and tightened at his touch as if commanding his body to rise. Fumbling, Kurt tugged and tore at the buttons of Blaine’s pants, releasing the fall before struggling with his own, seeing nothing and feeling and tasting only Blaine, Blaine’s hands, Blaine’s lips, Blaine’s tongue.

Biting back a moan, Kurt wrenched his breeches and draws down and below his hips and ass, freeing his swelling cock. 

Positively intoxicated, their bodies slotted together as they grabbed aimlessly at flesh, hair, and clothes and drew each other close, eliminating the little space left between them. Their kissing grew messy, more desperate, and their movements erratic, rubbing and rutting roughly, skin on skin, their hipbones digging into each other as they caught the delicious friction. 

Kurt cried out, and Blaine clapped a hand over his mouth. With a sudden movement, the back of Kurt’s thighs slammed against the edge of his desk, upsetting an inkwell, and then Blaine turned him around, bending him over until his face was inches from its mahogany surface. 

Fingers splayed, Kurt nearly dug his nails into the wood, clenching his jaw and biting down on his lip with a lengthy, guttural groan as Blaine's moist hand swiped the crevice of his ass, the blunt, velvety tip of his cock soon taking its place.

He felt Blaine enter him and bury himself deeper, inch by inch, the acute pressure stretching Kurt open, and he winced at the pain, yet delighted in the burn that soon morphed into unimaginable pleasure.

Documents fluttered to the floor, accompanied by the clattering of quills and supplies, and the spilled ink spattered the desk as it shook, running and dripping onto the carpet. 

Having heard a slight ruckus while going about her housekeeping duties, Mercedes moved quietly through the halls, soon passing by the door of Kurt’s study, where she froze at the sound of a loud bang. With bated breath, she listened in slight shock and mortification at the depraved grunts and moans sounding from within, the cries of a beast with two backs. 

She didn't know what to do, wanting nothing more for it to stop, but she wouldn't dare interrupt or intrude. Thankfully, the noise died down, and not wanting to be discovered, she silently crept away and went about her business, feigning ignorant as the day she was born. 


	6. March, 1813

Cool blues swirled into creamy white into verdant greens and reds, the defining lines and edges of the scene in the fresco beginning to blend together as Brittany gazed spellbound at the ceiling.

Her hands had been resting on her belly, which rose and fell in an easy rhythm, and then one hand crept its way to her side, her fingers finding those of her companion to tangle themselves in a comfortable web.

“You've been quiet.” Santana shifted, turning onto her belly. The stream of sunlight through the window threw Brittany's profile into relief, captivating her. She was worried. It wasn't like Brittany to not speak her mind. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Brittany’s eyes remained unfocused. “Sometimes, I become so accustomed to the art, so much so that I forget that it’s there. And then there are days I suddenly notice it again, like I’m seeing it for the first time.” Her lips curled into a small grin. “The feeling is delightful.”

Santana’s fond gaze was unwavering. “I always notice the art. It's too beautiful not to.”

The dazed grin on Brittany’s face fell away as she rolled over onto her side, her brow furrowing as if she was struggling to unravel a mistake in her needlework. “I have something I need to tell you.”

Earlier in the day, Brittany had called upon Santana to join her in her bedroom following lunch. There was an aura of trouble surrounding her, and now that they were face to face in close proximity, one of Santana’s greatest fears seemed to be coming to fruition. It had been three months since the wedding, since Brittany had been sharing a bed with her husband, and it would make sense if she was currently carrying his child.

“Are you -” Santana stuttered, steeling herself, her eyes raking Brittany’s body, “are you pregnant?”

Brittany’s eyes grew wide. “No, silly, that’s impossible.”

Santana laughed despite her grief. “You’ve slept with him, Brittany. You’ll be showing in no time, and then there’ll be no denying it. If that’s what this is, if you’re expecting, you’ll be starting a family and -”

Brittany cupped Santana's face, drawing her in to cradle her head and silence her. “Santana. I'm not pregnant. Blaine and I…” she looked around as if making certain no one was nearby to overhear. “We never had sex.”

“You never - how could that be?” Santana couldn’t believe her ears. The shock wore off quickly though only to be replaced with hope that Mercedes had been right, that she wasn’t going to lose her.

Brittany shook her head, pursing her lips as her hands fell away from Santana's head to rest on her thighs. “I’ve always confided in you, and I knew it was a secret I could no longer keep to myself. You see, Blaine...he tried, but I think he’s scared.”

“That means the marriage...that's great news, the best news I've ever heard, Brittany! A baby would only create distance between us, make your relationship more real.”

“What do you mean more real? It is real, we’re joined in holy matrimony.”

“Don't be foolish, Brittany. We both know that it's a sham. You don't love him, you never have...and I don't think you ever will.”

“You're being spiteful, Santana, and I don't like it.”

“Just look at yourself. Has your husband even been in your bed lately? Who’s in your bed? And now?”

Tears springing to her eyes, Brittany took Santana's hands, pulling them to her chest and holding them as it was keeping her alive. “It's you. It's always been you. But you know that's not how it's supposed to be. We can't be a we like Blaine and I are a we.”

“And why not? Who declares that? Who determines the rules we’re meant to live by? Men? They don't understand you or us or what we have. My body and soul crave you. I love you more than I have words for, Brittany. Why can't we just be we?”

Santana was caught by surprise when Brittany’s lips met hers, her palm set firmly against her cheek, and she melted, her eyes closing as she kissed her slowly, tenderly.

“We are, Santana. We are,” she murmured against her lips.

With sprightly squeals and laughter, they rolled over, Santana pinning Brittany. She stretched out, her full weight settled atop Brittany as they kissed, lips sliding together, fingers curling into and loosening tightly woven hair, nails digging gently and scraping over skin. The fabric of their skirts bunched up above their knees as hands roamed over hills and valleys of supple flesh.

Santana knew her power over Brittany, how she could make her completely helpless. The way they were, the touches, the sensations, how they knew each other’s bodies, was familiar and often felt as if a bond existed beyond just the physical.

Brittany was sure Santana could hear the frantic pace of her heartbeat, though she’d been in this position many times. She’d never known that this was all she needed, that it could be all she wanted. The perfume of Santana’s olive skin roused her senses and heightened her desire, soft dark hair cascading down, hanging by her face and neck, tickling her skin and causing her to shiver.

Brittany’s back arched, body and nipple rising beneath Santana’s palm, and her hand soon snaked its way inside the bust of her dress, fully exposing one of her pale breasts. A lengthy, lascivious moan escaped Brittany as Santana caressed and massaged, trailing kisses downward, over her collarbone, over her breast. First her plump lips and then her mouth latched onto its peak, and she rolled her tongue over her hardening nipple, reaching to pull her skirt and petticoat even higher.  

Waves of pleasure coursed through Brittany’s veins, spreading through her limbs like pure sunlight to the very tips of her fingers and toes. _Yes_. Santana rubbed between her thighs, her hand gradually gliding upward. _Yes_. The gentle pressure of teasing fingers stroking her labia. _Yes!_ Brittany writhed beneath Santana, whimpering, her arousal dripping down her thigh as she bit back a keening moan.

Amidst their fervent revelry, Blaine’s entrance went unheard, his presence unknown until he shouted out with an unbridled fury.

“What, in the devil’s name - !?”

The girls jumped apart, scurrying up out of the bed, their hearts pounding and eyes filled with panic as they covered themselves.

But he'd seen it all, the startling image burned into his retinas like a flash of lightning that struck the earth and fissured what thin threads still bound him to his wife. Seething, it was as if the entire room was going up in flames around him, and Blaine was consumed by the heat, the dangerous volatile energy. Inevitably, one or all of them was going to burn.

He knew he wasn’t thinking straight, and he fought the urge to scream out in rage, to take back what belonged to him.

Blaine couldn’t look at her anymore.

Turning on his heel, he sprinted back toward the hall, taking off toward Kurt’s study.

Blaine couldn’t explain why he went to Kurt like he did, why his first instinct was to run away and seek him out, and it didn’t seem fair to rat them out, but he hadn’t known what else to do.

Blaine pushed his way through the door, locking it behind him as Kurt jumped up from his seat at his desk.

“Why, Blaine, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s Brittany.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then began to pace. “I don’t know how I hadn’t seen it before. It was happening under my nose all this time -- probably since long before I started courting her!” Flustered, Blaine finally halted, turning to Kurt, who sat up straight and watched Blaine with an eyebrow quirked. “I entered Brittany’s bedroom and discovered her in an undignified manner, being unfaithful with -” Blaine swallowed hard, “Santana.”

The image was still swirling violently in his mind’s eye, making his stomach sick, and then memories flooded back to him, clumsily cramming themselves into place like puzzle pieces, soon revealing the whole picture. Of course, he thought. Of course they’d been having an affair. He’d seen it in her viciously jealous eyes: Santana was in love with Brittany. Santana had always been in love with her.

Kurt had risen to his full height, his face positively flushed, and he felt as if he'd been struck by an errant cannonball, his head beginning to spin.

He could hardly fathom what he was hearing.

Forget Blaine's failure to see it, for he'd only been in her life less than a year. Kurt had raised her and Santana. Surely, as her father, he should have seen the signs and was to blame for being so damned ignorant.

Impossible to ignore was the fact that she’d been partaking in adulterous acts when she’d made her vows to Blaine. Regardless of whatever had happened between the girls through the years, it was her duty to honor her husband. Guilt permeated Kurt’s being, his chest growing tight, for he felt responsible for Brittany’s wayward and deceitful behavior, and it pained him even more to know the position in which he’d put Blaine.

“This is most unfortunate...deeply perplexing.” Kurt couldn’t make head or tail of why Brittany would stray from such a generous lover, not someone as kind and fair as Blaine. “You’ve been good to her…”  

“I have a confession to make,” Blaine said meekly, briefly bowing his head. “Brittany is still a virgin.”

In the face of Kurt’s anguish, there was a nagging feeling trying to pierce its way through and conquer his wrath to replace it with a great selfish sense of sadistic pleasure. Kurt was righteous enough to know that his own behaviors, his now numerous indiscretions with Blaine, made him no moral being with the authority to pass judgment. Yet, if Blaine had never truly consummated the marriage, if they had never been intimate, then all of Blaine was devoted to him.  

 

***

 

There was a dark cloud hanging over the estate that evening, and dinner proved to be an arduous game. As if masquerading, every member of the household harbored their secrets behind transparent veils, maintaining composure and exchanging affected words until the very last minute of the meal. All in company knew that the calm could only last for so long before their world was obliterated by the truth, but they played on.  

With a terrible abruptness, Kurt rose, his penetrating gaze and stern tone keeping everyone adhered to their seats.

“I can’t ignore the farce and deception that has been taking place within the walls of my home.” His eyes fixed on Brittany with an unnerving intensity. “Do you think me an idiot, darling? Did you think that I would never find out about how you’ve sinned?” Kurt’s eyes flicked to Santana, boring in like venomous fangs. “You,” he growled, thrusting his finger in her direction, “you wheedled your way in and took advantage of my daughter. You destroyed something sacred and poisoned her mind!”

Paralyzed, Blaine watched the confrontation unfold with wide fearful eyes.

“It’s not her fault, Papa!” Brittany cried out.

The silverware jumped and plates rattled as his hand came down hard on the tabletop. “Silence!”

Brittany whimpered, tears breaking through and rolling steadily down her cheeks.

Santana cowered, not daring to look Kurt in the eyes.

Kurt took a deep, quivering breath, gritting his teeth. “I’ll be a fool no more.”

Brittany leaped to her feet, her voice strangled and thick with emotion. “I love her, and she loves me!”

“If I were a wiser man, I’d send her away and be done with it! Consider yourself lucky that I allow the bawdy wench to live in my home and eat my food when all she’s done to show her gratitude is corrupt my daughter. Listen closely, Brittany, and take these words to heart. I better never catch you two sneaking off to carry on your affair. It ends tonight.”

Kurt meant far less than half of what he spoke, but he needed to put on a show in order to maintain his role of authority, and through the charade he hoped to deflect attention and keep concealed his own wrongdoing.

While their world crumbled, it was fitting itself back together with new purpose.

Now that it felt as if Blaine was all his, the stakes were even higher.

He knew he did what he had to do to protect himself and what was most precious to him, but as he stood there watching his daughter cry tears that he'd been responsible for, his heart sank and he wished he could take it all back and never hurt her again.

An apology would show weakness. The damage was done. He'd broken Brittany, yet his secret was still intact.

 

***

 

Kurt's study was a cold, lonely place, its four walls feeling suddenly like those of a jail cell. Even the shelves lined with colorful, leather bound, gold leaf books seemed to fade into oblivion, leaving him isolated and miserable. Sleep was evading him as he stewed in his guilt, so he’d taken a bottle of whiskey upstairs and locked himself in.

What had he done?

Fear and remorse seized him, and he drowned those pesky bastards with liquor. His eyes and throat burned until they were raw. His stomach churned like lava. As each emotion snuck up on him, threatening to break him down to tears, he drowned it as well.

He'd been wrong, so very wrong.

Brittany and Santana...Santana and Brittany. They had always been close, spending hours together in private, hiding away from all others residing in the house. Maybe he had known, maybe he had seen the way they looked at each other, the small touches and secrets they shared in passing that made Brittany light up like the August sun. It had always been just the two of them, inseparable...in love.

Kurt knocked back another glass of whiskey, his mind reaching a deplorable state that made it difficult to think let alone feel. Numb. Everything was numb. His reality was slowly morphing into something unrecognizable.

It wasn’t the way he’d been raised, to be cruel, dishonest, unreasonable.

The base of the glass hit the surface of his desk a split second before his head thudded against the wood, his consciousness slipping away like the few remaining grains of sand in an hourglass.


	7. April, 1813

A distinct clearing of a throat drew Kurt’s attention from the documents laid out in front of him. Out of respect, he rose to his feet with a solemn reluctance, stepping slowly from behind his desk.

“Something told me I’d find you up here. I was surprised to find the door ajar.”

Joining his hands behind his back, Kurt turned toward the window, refusing to look at the man hovering in the doorway. He fixed his gaze on a distant point across the ample acreage of his estate. The midday sun reflected off the soft slush that coated the ground, the only remnant of the long, bleak winter. A slight breeze rustled through the grasses that poked up through the melted snow.

“You haven’t been yourself.” Blaine crossed his arms, leaning against the doorjamb. “Where’s the jovial fellow I know, the man who prides himself in throwing the most extravagant parties and entertaining his friends and guests? It feels like you haven’t left your study in over a month. No one comes around anymore. It’s lonely. I miss you.”

Kurt heaved a tired sigh as if he’d been carrying the weight of the world. “The snow’s nearly melted now.”

“Perhaps a change of season is opportune for a change of heart.”

“Not now, Blaine.” Kurt waved a hand as if to shoo him away. “I’m not in the mood for such sentiments.”

“I’m not budging that easily. It’s important that I speak with you. If I don’t get the chance to tell you why I’m here, then I may never find peace.”

“Why did you come here, Blaine? To taunt me?”

“I meant nothing of the kind.”

“Then what is your business here? I advise you get it out now, or be on your way.”

“The past few years, the Great Lakes have been rife with war. Recently, I’ve heard whispers of Chauncy’s troops taking York. They burned it to the ground. There were several casualties, but it was a victory for the American people. Control of the Capital is a crucial step on the road to total victory and ridding the redcoats from our land once and for all.”

“Yes, yes, of course. And you feel it necessary to give me a lesson on warfare? I’m not one of your students, you know. These books I surround myself with aren’t for decoration.”

“I know. But it’s important that you know.”

“Know what?”

“Why I’m leaving.”

“You’re preparing to travel? To where? Will you be taking Brittany along?”

“There’s no place for her where I’m going.” Blaine dared to take a few steps toward Kurt. Though he wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, he was careful to keep a safe distance. “I’ve been in contact with the leader of a local militia. He’s informed me that they need able-bodied men. People are out there, good men, fighting for our freedom, and I can’t sit idly by any longer. I’m enlisting, Kurt. My conduct has been improper. By joining the war and doing something honorable, I might atone for the sins I’ve committed. I have no intention of becoming a martyr, but at least I’ll feel as if I’ve done right.”

Kurt barked out a bitter laugh. There was no way a man of Blaine’s position would throw away his life and career to join a ragged infantry just to march into a barrage of gunfire and destruction. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve misheard you.”

“I’m enlisting,” he repeated with unquestionable clarity and resolve. “I’m joining the war.”

Kurt finally turned to look at Blaine and was struck by his stone-cold sincere expression. He felt as if Blaine had had a pistol pointed at his heart and had just pulled the trigger.

“Why?” His voice was as broken as his heart, his breath quivering as he spoke. “Do you think you need to prove you're a man? Is it because of us, of what we've done?”

Blaine bowed his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He gave a subtle nod. “I don’t regret what happened between us. I made my choices, and I’ve taken responsibility and accepted the consequences. But I never intended to hurt Brittany.”

Kurt huffed. “Brittany is just fine. You know as well as I do how swept up in her whims she’s been. I’ve never seen her happier.”

“I wish I could say the same for you.”

Kurt let Blaine’s comment roll off his back. “All I could do was make a conscience effort to turn a blind eye, to pretend I don’t know she and Santana never stopped.”

“You act as if love can be stopped,” Blaine said, feeling heat surge just below his skin. “Love is a curious thing. Sometimes it feels good and right, other times it’s a damning force that seizes you like a treacherous gale and blows you far off course, makes you forget where you came from.”

Kurt’s eyes shone with sorrow. “What a pity it would be to lose a mind like yours.”

“I haven’t lost my mind, but I wonder about you. You’ve been hiding away, and you think that’s the solution to all the chaos you’ve caused? Yes, Brittany’s faring well, but what about me, Kurt? Do you think it’s easy to have gotten so close to a man with whom I’ve exchanged affections only for him to forsake me? You’re nothing but a miserable old recluse, Kurt Hummel, and it’s of no benefit to hang around here when there’s nothing for me.”

“Now I see, you’ve come up here to wound me. At least I can’t cause more harm to those I love if I stay away.”

“Quite the contrary. Your absence is more painful than your presence.”

Kurt tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, and stared Blaine down as if trying to see through him. “And your absence will throw me into the deepest depths of despair. Is that what you needed to hear? Be reasonable, Blaine. The frontlines are no place for a learned man like you. You were born for greater things.”

“I’m not seeking your approval, and your objection won’t excuse these past five months.”

“That's it then? You're really leaving?”

Blaine swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ve spoken with Brittany, and I’ve promised to write her. My mind’s made up,” he told him. “I’m already gone. Goodbye, Mr. Hummel.”

 

***

 

Sebastian threw open the door of the study and marched in, his face scrunching as he looked upon an unshaven Kurt. “Tu pues! Have you even left that chair?!” He groaned in frustration. “Lève toi maintenant!”

“Bugger off, Sebastian. I was just fine before you invaded my study like your beloved Napoleon.”

Unfazed and determined, Sebastian hooked his hands under Kurt’s arms and yanked him out of his seat to his feet. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s unattractive.”

Miffed, Kurt’s eyes followed Sebastian’s progress as he made his way to the window, unlatched it, and slid it open. His brother-in-law took a deep breath, turned quickly back toward him, and then snatched the half-empty bottle of whiskey and chucked it out the window. Looking quite pleased with himself, Sebastian brushed his hands together as Kurt stared in shock.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Kurt was red in the face.

“I came to bring you to your senses. Brittany told me everything. What I can’t comprehend is why you’re acting as if the young Mr. Anderson has died.”

“He’s as good as dead,” Kurt growled.

“My _sister_ is dead. _You’re_ a coward.”

“Don’t you dare bring Sophie into this. You know as well as I do what happens to pawns. Blaine’s not a soldier. Out there, it’s kill or be killed. I don’t think the man has an ounce of fight in his body.”

“Maybe he won’t return. But maybe he will. You’ve loved and lost before. You need to pull yourself together, and I don’t think it’ll be possible while surrounded by the ghosts of your past. That’s why I’m taking the girls to France with me. It’s time, Kurt. It's for the best.”

His anger drained from his body, sadness radiating from his eyes. “You’re taking my daughters away from me?”

Sebastian jabbed a finger in the air. “Aha! You do love them both. That’s why I think it’s best that you give Brittany some space, let her follow her heart until it’s content. She wants to go more than anything in the world, and when she’s ready to come home, she will return on her terms.”

Kurt heaved a weary sigh, bringing his hand to his forehead. “Brittany’s dreamt of Paris since she was a little girl. She used to dance around the drawing room like a danseuse de ballet.” He smiled and chuckled to himself at the memory.

“People grow older, but some things never change. She’ll find peace there.”

“I suppose some change could do a person good. It’s going to be difficult to let her go.”

“Love isn't always being a protector. You can't control the world. You have to trust. So, trust, Kurt, and have faith that people will do what is best.”

“Although your methods are borderline malicious...you’re probably right.”

Sebastian placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, directly meeting his eyes. “Losing Blaine is no small sorrow. I hope, for your sake, that he does come home.” He pressed a palm over Kurt’s heart, and then he pulled back.

Kurt’s lip trembled, and he fought back the tears burning in his eyes. “I'm going to take a stroll -- alone, if you don't mind.”

“Not at all, my brother.” He clapped him lightly on the arm and took a step back.

“Thank you, Sebastian.”

“De rien.” Sebastian turned to leave, but doubled back, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Allez, et vous rasez l'animal de votre visage, vous bâtard puant.”

Kurt’s hand shot up to brush over his cheeks and chin, and he laughed. “Bien sûr. Certaines choses ne changent jamais.”


	8. February, 1815

Where sales logs and business correspondences usually were arranged rested stacks of newspapers, many with ink smudged from being read many times. On the top of the pile, headlines boasted phrases the likes of “Treaty Ratified”, “An Honorable Peace! Obtained By American Bravery!!”, “National Poetry. Defence of Fort M’Henry”, and “Defeat of the British at New Orleans”. Buried in the pile was an issue involving the account of the Burning of Washington, D.C., a day that Kurt never wanted to relive. The narrative that unfolded through those papers carried Kurt Hummel through some of the most trying moments of his life.

For the first year, those articles were the only connection Kurt had to Blaine. With untold diligence, he followed every detail of the war. Although there were no specific mentions of Blaine, he found solace in knowing, cheering each victory, mourning each loss. When the British were defeated at the Battle of Lake Erie, the constant sick feeling in Kurt’s stomach began to fade, instilling within him a quiet courage. Seeing it all in black and white paled in comparison to what the soldiers were experiencing and could never truly describe the horrors they faced, but Kurt lived it vicariously, pining and fearing for the soldiers, praying for an American victory and Blaine’s safe return.

In the second year, Brittany returned a more confident and poised woman, and he embraced her like he’d never done before, unable to believe just how much he’d missed her. With his daughter came the direct correspondences, and it filled Kurt with the utmost hope and glee to know that they had never ceased. Blaine was alive and well, and on the evenings Brittany received each letter, nestled with Santana on the sofa, she would read them aloud as if reading a storybook. Those stories were warmer than the black and white text, their words produced by the careful hand of the man who had both their hearts. Kurt relished every word, could hear Blaine’s voice and see his face in every sentiment.

A few months later, the letters ceased.

The British had set Washington ablaze, and it felt as if Kurt’s entire world was burning down around him, the stable ground he’d once stood upon falling out from beneath him. Suddenly, he knew nothing, heard nothing, had nothing. The nation was still in its infancy, and now it was being smothered in its cradle.

Seeing Brittany’s face, seeing her happy with Santana, brought him comfort, and for once he cared more about her happiness, about what he could provide her than his own selfish desires. If Blaine never returned home, he knew Brittany would survive it, and that brought Kurt some peace. His mind was settling, and he was just about to accept the very real possibility that Blaine had been killed in combat.

Gradually, Kurt slipped into a deep melancholy, mourning and weeping openly only while in the privacy of his study. While in front of his family and friends, he was strong and reserved.

The sun rose, as did Kurt. And the world turned. Somehow the pain was lesser as if the scars from being wounded so deeply before made him tougher, his skin thicker. And when Kurt finally emerged from the cocoon of scar tissue, he was free, yet changed.

It was a brisk morning, though strangely sunny and warm for February, and Kurt had been pacing his study, working impossible numbers in his head. The war had greatly hindered trade in the region, and Kurt was finding that the fashions were changing with the times; the fur trade was on the decline, placing Kurt’s fortune and financial fate in the balance.  

It would do him no good to ruminate perpetually, so he took a deep breath, pulled back the curtains, and let the sunlight wash over him as he cleared his mind. Movement outside caught his eye, and he looked down, following the hurried progress of Brittany across the grounds, her destination made clear when she halted abruptly to greet the postman. Ever since Blaine’s correspondences ceased, she’d become anxious, rushing to receive any news that could be good news. No news was often good news. Usually, she’d return empty-handed, and Kurt would sigh and go about his business, but as he watched, Brittany turned back toward the house, tightly gripping a letter against her chest. He couldn’t make out her expression from this distance, but as soon as he saw her gait pick up to a sprint, Kurt turned quickly, abandoning his work and exiting his study to meet her downstairs.

Tears were streaming down her face, and Kurt rushed to take her in his arms, bracing himself and expecting the worst.

“There, there,” he murmured into her hair. He could feel her trembling in his arms.

With a deep breath, she pulled out of his embrace, swiping her fingers under her eyes to whisk the moisture away. Meeting Kurt’s eyes, Brittany held up the slightly crumpled parchment. Her lips parted, yet she still hadn’t found her voice, and then she smiled, her eyes growing more brilliant by the second. “Blaine is back.”

Kurt pulled her to him again, holding her tighter and feeling tears spring to his eyes.

“I know how worried you’ve been about him,” Brittany said, handing him the letter to read. “I couldn’t stand to see you heartbroken. I wanted to see you happy again.”

Kurt took it, but his eyes and mind were too unfocused to comprehend what was written. Instead, he looked back to his daughter, his brow furrowing as he registered her words. “You - you knew?” he stammered, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. Oh god, he thought he had kept the affair a secret, that it might die with him and be forgotten, but she knew, and Kurt was terrified she would hate him, blame him for Blaine’s departure.

She nodded, but not a trace of anger or resentment tinged her smile. “I knew, Papa. There were letters that Blaine wrote me long ago that I never shared with you. He explained everything, and then I knew for certain.”

“I’m sorry, Brittany.” Kurt’s voice broke, his heart aching as he broke down into soft sobs.

“I know,” she said, and this time she took him in her arms. “I thought it all through, and Santana helped me see things clearly. Blaine is still my husband, but his heart belongs to you. If you truly want to be with him, then you have my blessing.”

“Thank you,” he whispered again and again. “You are your mother’s daughter.” Kurt couldn’t believe how much she now resembled Sophie, as if Paris had transformed her, aged her, even. Now nineteen, Brittany had blossomed into a magnificent lady, a strong, kind, and liberated woman, and he’d never been more proud of her.

The letter still in his grasp, Kurt finally pulled away and read, allowing every word to feed his soul, to fill his heart and make it whole again. When he'd reached the signature, he folded it up, tucking it safely inside the breast of his jacket. Blaine could arrive any minute, and Kurt knew he had to prepare the most extravagant homecoming celebration he could muster.

 

***

 

The name Francis Scott Key rang out in homes and taverns across America as fireworks filled the darkened skies, but the joyous energy that permeated the Hummel estate was unlike any felt by even the most patriotic.

Kurt couldn’t remember the last time he’d hosted so many guests and seen so many people so merry. It was impossible to frown during the occasion, even though the guest of honor had yet to arrive. Kurt’s grip on his glass was so tight that he feared it might break, so he drained his drink, setting it down just in time for Blaine’s arrival.

“It’s a miracle,” Kurt breathed, stunned by the man’s presence.

There he stood in the doorway of the dining room, stately and solemn, his hat tucked under his arm. His posture was erect and tense, almost as if the dark blue uniform he donned was fit to his body like a plaster cast, constricting and immobilizing him. Everything about Blaine seemed tame and subdued except for his hair, his curls unruly as if they were resisting the tight hold on the rest of his body and rebelling.

It took everything within Kurt to not run to him, to keep his affections bottled up and suppress his rapture upon seeing him again, alive and well. But it wasn’t his place, and to put on such a public display would be offering himself up to the hangman. The dire consequences weren’t the only thing holding him back.

No matter how much Blaine looked like the Blaine who had left him two years prior, the Blaine standing before him might not be the same beneath the familiar exterior. The thought alone was enough to make Kurt feel the pain of loss all over again, the uncertainty of whether or not Blaine still desired him.

It was wonderful to see him back, interacting and dancing with Brittany, but as soon as the dinner party concluded, Kurt retired early to his study, physically and emotionally exhausted.

Kurt was loosening his cravat by dwindling candlelight when a silhouette appeared in his doorway.

“Ever a creature of habit, I see. There’s something very nice about predictability and knowing that some things will remain undisturbed and will always be exactly where we left them.”

Kurt had risen to his feet before Blaine had uttered a word. “I’ve heard it said that some things never change.” He took a few cautious steps toward Blaine. Up close, Kurt could see a sort of weariness in the man’s features that hadn’t been there before, giving him an aged, matured appearance. It was as if the war took more than two years from his life. “Have _you_ , Blaine?”

Without a moment of hesitation, Blaine moved swiftly forward, taking hold of Kurt and kissing him fiercely, inhaling deeply as if breathing Kurt into his body and soul. He pulled away with a sigh. “I had forgotten what I’d left behind.”

“I have a great many regrets, Blaine. I never should have let you go.” Kurt scooped him up in his arms and pulled him closer, holding onto him with no desire to let go again.

“Please, Kurt. I was far too stubborn. You never could have changed my mind at the time, but time does funny things to a person. Staring down death does even more. Men are lead to believe there's honor and glory in being a soldier, bearing arms and fighting for his nation, but when you're there living it and you're given the order to fire upon men, some just young boys...it changes you.” Blaine took a moment to gather himself. “I realized that reality doesn’t quite match up with all we’re taught and told is right in our lives. Life is too fragile. With each change of the season, I wondered if I would ever see you again. Brittany’s letters of courage and reassurance kept me going, even when I was surrounded by danger, blood and carnage, and the stench of death. But it’s over. I lived, Kurt. Now I know what I want, and it’s love and comfort and to be home. I didn’t know it then, but it’s been here all along. It’s always been you. I tried to tell myself that it was just an affair, a carnal urge that I could resist, but I couldn’t because it was more than that. I love you, Kurt Hummel.”

Kurt was caught off-guard, his eyes growing wide, and after a beat he said, “I love you, too.”

As his lips met Blaine’s, Kurt ran his fingers down the round brass buttons of the single-breasted jacket, which sealed it closed like sutures bisecting Blaine's chest and abdomen. He wanted to undo them and to undo Blaine, to strip him of the shackles of morality and so-called justice, and with his mouth suck the poison of submission and shame from his veins. He wanted to lay his hands upon Blaine’s skin and feel his heartbeat through his chest and pulse through his fingertips, to intertwine their hands and fingers and then revel in the melding of their bodies.

But there was something to be said about ease and patience, and Kurt pulled back, taking Blaine’s hand and holding him at arm’s length.

“I’ve slept alone for nineteen long years,” Kurt spoke softly. “Sophie…” His gaze dropped momentarily, his lashes fluttering. “She would have wanted me to carry on and to love again. More than half my life has passed, Blaine, and I'm tired.”

“Tomorrow is a new day,” Blaine said, offering a smile and not missing the implication of Kurt's words. The dawn would shed new light on what they were, and they'd greet the sun side by side and shoulder to shoulder.

As the world turns, darkness precedes light which fades in time to be overwhelmed once more, the two forces conceding to each other in an endless cycle. In the darkness, it was easy to fear and be consumed by uncertainty, but even in the darkness there was light inside the walls of the Hummel estate, the fire that burned, providing warmth and sanctuary from the callous and forbidding fire beyond its walls. 


End file.
